


Her Blade

by KairaShiane



Category: World of Warcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 12:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13458111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KairaShiane/pseuds/KairaShiane
Summary: Win a battle, lose the war.





	Her Blade

**CRACK**.

That was the sound that changed everything. My blade shattering from the blow of a warhammer I’d tried to parry. It bought me enough time to swing my shield into the skeleton’s jaw, but the Scourge was endless. I needed another weapon and in that moment it was as if Elune herself provided my salvation.

A claymore with a jet black hilt, buried to the guard in bloody snow. I snatched it up, dragging the blade free just in time to bisect a leaping geist. Its ichor clung to the blade, and every straining muscle relaxed. My heartbeat hammered in my ears as I leapt back into the fray. Every swing was effortless, every impact reverberating through the hilt only empowered my exhausted frame.

The advancing undead ceased to intimidate me, instead I was reveling in the idea of a fight that might last forever. Of course such hubris is rarely rewarded and as I charged into the front line a volley of arrows greeted me. Many of them glanced off my armor but two found themselves a home in my gut.

I remember hearing another Sentinel scream my name over the din of combat, but it didn’t matter. The pain was inconsequential. The injury was meaningless. My body was a machine built for a singular task and it would not fail. I ripped the barbed projectiles free and continued on.

My blade met decaying body and was doused in ichor once more, the pain faded. It cleaved through two skeletons and was coated in crushed bone, I barely noticed the mace that slammed into my side. The undead holding it noticed when I caved its skull in with the edge of my shield. A ghoul sunk its teeth into my bicep and I sent it skidding across the snow with a swing of one arm. My shield went with it, but that was fine. I had what I needed.

The battle began to circle around me before long. Undead tried to pen me in, their mistake. My weapon cut through metal, bone, and flesh like it wasn’t even there. Ghouls, geists, and skeletons fell before me until the innumerable Scourge found themselves pruned down to naught but a single necromancer desperately raising creature after creature.

In moments I was bearing down on the robed caster. A bolt of necrotic energy jumped from one of their hands and I slapped it away. One thrust of my blade ended their incantations. That’s when I felt it for the first time. Fresh blood making contact with the runes of my weapon. My own blood boiled and every nerve lit up. My muscles tensed and I lunged in to join the feast as my senses were drowned in a sea of crimson.


End file.
